SUPERMAN: The Documentary
by Pony R
Summary: Why has Superman been making some judgement errors in his rescues and his life since his return from the "Five Year Mission?" Now, Clark learns to lean on his friends.
1. Chapter 1

**SUPERMAN: THE DOCUMENTARY**

**A work of Fan Fiction by Pony R.**

_Superman is owned by DC Comics. I own nothing._

_No copyright infringement is intended._

_My Superman Universe is based on elements of many: The Donner films; Superman Returns, and the books by Maggin and Stern, as well as Smallville, and a few ideas of my own._

_This is also a loose sequel to my previous story, A SUPER CHRISTMAS._

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_'Something's wrong,_' thought Clark as he tried to get a better grip on the hurtling piece of space junk that had, for the last eleven years, been an LDEF satellite.

And hurtling they both were, tumbling and skidding out of control at 17,000 miles per hour on a demolition derby track that filled the western sky. Or more like a drag strip that overarced the North American continent, as the Eldef Satellite was moving into the upper atmosphere and starting to slice into the first faint wisps of air, causing it to glow and heat at various points along its school-bus length. Superman, for his part, was trying to grab hold of something, anything that would allow him to successfully slow or deflect the huge, columnar-shaped satellite. Everything he latched onto seemed to crumble – even the craft's hard points weren't built to handle this level of stress.

The satellite had been doing fine, still functioning many years beyond its original lifespan. LDEF stood for Long Duration Exposure Facility. It was designed to test the effects of long-term exposure to the environment of orbital space on various substances, compounds, items, etc. At certain intervals, NASA's Space Shuttle would dock with Eldef and take samples, exchange hardware or experiment packages, deal with any problems, and send it on its way, bouncing around the Earth in the low-orbit-to-medium-orbit realms and, basically, letting stuff hit it. Cosmic rays, micrometeoroids, dust, pretty much anything to be found up there. But, today it'd been hit by a very large meteor. Eldef weighed ten tons and was the size of a school bus. The rock that hit it was the size of a Volkswagen, but as it was solid, it was substantially massive. And it was traveling just fast enough to crumple the side and corner of the platform, and send it into a sharp, rapid forward tumble that caused it to start losing altitude. It was the tumbling of the heavy, ungainly satellite that was most of the problem: Superman was easily able to match the vehicle's spin, although for some strange reason, doing so actually made him a bit dizzy, and that had never happened before. Quickly dismissing the sensation, however, he was more concerned about the stresses he was putting on the craft as he tried to slow it down. The attachment points simply couldn't handle the torque being placed on them when Clark would grab one and try to apply opposing pressure. Several of them bent sharply. One simply snapped-off and flew from the stunned superhero's grasp.

By now, Eldef and Superman were streaking through the mesosphere, incandescing like two magnesium-phosphorous flares in the morning sky over America's heartland. The Kryptonian simply could not seem to get any kind of a grip on the tumbling cylinder that didn't cause the thing to break up into smaller, yet still-lethal chunks. Clark was getting desperate now; the thing was a flaming ball of metal and superheated plasma, streaking into the upper stratosphere with an audible screech. Clark feared not only the possibility that it might pass through reentry and come crashing down whole in some populated area, but as well the possibility that if it broke up after reentry, it would do even more collateral damage on an impact spread over a much wider range.

Finally, desperately, Clark cocked his arm and drove a hard punch into the skin of the satellite along one of the structural members. That was all the weakened spaceframe could handle. The LDEF Satellite fractured into numerous large pieces and began to tumble away. As he watched, dismayed, Clark observed the thick trails of smoke that billowed from the glowing sections of metal frame and skin and wires. The wiring, much of it copper, glowed a brilliant green as it burned up. This was not uncommon, but this time Superman found himself watching with a stronger sense of… pause. He began rushing around after shaking himself from his reverie, trying to gather and shepherd the various burning, falling sections of the once-massive spacecraft. The smaller bits he was able to simply vaporize with a quick glance of heat-vision, but the larger ones posed a serious threat to anyone on the ground, and as the seconds ticked by, they were spreading further away from each other, and from Clark.

After what seemed like an hour, but was really only a few moments, Superman had gathered almost all of the larger pieces and had thrown each of them back up into a higher orbit. They'd still come back down over the next few weeks, but at least this gave him some time. There was one large remaining chunk, however. And it was glowing a definite green. Without considering this for more than a moment, Clark darted toward the tumbling, burning piece of debris. Getting in front of it, he slowed himself down to allow the thing to land on his chest, with the idea of grasping it, slowing down, turning forward, and lofting it up out of the atmosphere.

But as soon as the fragment, about the size of a large beach ball, settled in his grasp, he immediately felt very weak. His strength and consciousness rapidly fading, he tried to turn around to face forward, to no avail. The thing was shoving him through the lower atmosphere now, headed almost deliberately toward Metropolis, which had just come into view on the horizon, about 120 nautical miles ahead, and around 30,000 feet below. His head turned in their direction of travel, Clark could clearly see the East Coast of the Atlantic, a few wispy cirrus clouds painting the morning layers of the atmosphere with fine white brushstrokes.

By the time Superman and the last bit of Eldef passed over the border of New Troy, Clark was almost totally unconscious, flying in a backwards attitude in much the same way he had stopped the falling Boeing 777 from augering-in to the baseball diamond of Metro Stadium when he had first arrived back on Earth. The flames were now gone from the chunk of satellite in Clark's arms, but the faint green glow remained.

Together, as if guided by the hand of God, or the 9-iron of Tiger Woods, they were headed straight over the skyscrapers of Downtown Metropolis and aimed perfectly "down the fairway" toward the globe atop _The Daily Planet_ building, as if Eldef, in it's last moment of play, was going for an Ace right off the tee. The fact that Clark had managed to slow their descent and forward velocity to about 120 miles per hour was probably more autonomic or instinctive than actually a thoughtful act on his part. By the time they slammed into the building's roof, just below the base of the globe, Superman was not aware of anything at all.

Jimmy Olsen and Lois Lane watched from the roof of _The Daily Planet_ as Superman and the glowing green beach ball came barreling down at them. They were up there because they knew Clark had raced off less than an hour after they had arrived at work, when Clark had learned of the Eldef's imminent reentry, and they wanted to not only watch the skies for any sign of the action, but they also figured that if all three of them were seen returning from the roof, it would appear as though they'd simply gone up there for a break, as many workers tended to do. Lois and Jimmy could both cover for Clark's "disappearance" and nobody would be the wiser. Also, Perry wanted them there in case they could pull a story out of the situation. Jimmy had his camera plastered to his face, its'auto-drive cranking-off six frames per second as the red-caped superhero loomed larger and larger by the second. Finally, just as "target fascination" was starting to hold him in place, Jimmy felt a pair of hands grab his right arm (spoiling the last few frames) and yank him out of the way of 225 pounds of flying Kryptonian and 75 extra pounds of satellite equipment just before he would have been squashed. The impact of Superman hitting the base of the globe sent a loud _gong_ing sound resonating up through the huge metal sphere and shook dust from everything on the roof. And then, just as suddenly, it was over, and all was quiet except for the sounds of the street far below, the ticking and creaking of the gigantic _Daily Planet_ globe like a car engine cooling-down, and the last of the thrumming sound as the resonance vibrations died off.

After a moment of trepidation, Lois and Jimmy cautiously moved forward to the point where Superman had come to rest. As the dust cleared, they saw him.

On his back, the glowing green metal sphere still clutched in his arms.

His nose and mouth were bleeding. And he was out like a light.

As Clark struggled to regain his senses, to break through the fog surrounding his thoughts and the strange disjointed-ness of incoming sensory stimuli, two things swam into clarity at the same time: Lois' voice, and _pain_.

'_It HURTS!_' was the first coherent thought he had, rapidly followed by, '_God, Lois, can you be quiet for a second?_'

"Sorry, Clark… wait… you can hear me?" her voice replied.

'_Uh-oh. Did I just tell Lois to be quite for real?_'

"Yes, you did, Smallville," came the reply, with a combination of amusement and concern.

'_Owww. It really, REALLY hurts,_' Clark thought, as he finally gained the ability to pry one eye open. In his vision, which was still spinning a bit, he saw Lois and Jimmy bending over him. The weight on his chest was gone, and turning his head to one side (which brought on a new level of throb) he was able to make out the misshapen fragment of satellite that had been the last thing he remembered grabbing, about 30 feet away, having been rolled off of him by Lois and Jimmy as soon as they had gotten to Clark's side. It looked to be a container or tank of some kind, roughly globular or capsule-shaped, and metallic, at least where it wasn't scorched black. It was resting at the base of the parapet that ran along the edge of the roof.

Prying open the other eye, he willed his vision to stabilize, his stomach to stay still, and his mind to work. Looking at Lois in confusion and relief, the first words out of his mouth were, "Sorry, Dear. I. uhhh… oh my God…"

His eyes started to lose focus again.

"Looks like you took some damage, Clark," Jimmy supplied. "How do you feel?"

Earth's greatest superhero and only official extraterrestrial looked his best friend like he had grown two heads.

"Jim, look at me. I feel like I got smacked with a ten-ton satellite!"

Lois tried, unsuccessfully, to hide a little smirk, but Jimmy was crestfallen. "Gee, Clark, I'm sorry. I was just worried about you. You're hurt."

The Kryptonian made an easy effort to soften his gaze. It wasn't every day he was in such pain, and he had not intended to be irritable. Reaching painfully up, he put his hand on Jimmy's shoulder. "I know, pal. I'm sorry. I just… it really hurts."

"What would cause that?" Lois asked.

Superman looked over at the fragment again. It looked like an ordinary piece of the satellite. No green glow.

"I think that thing may have some Kryptonite inside it," he panted, nodding in the direction of the object. "And, as such, I'd appreciate it if one of you could get it to the other side of the roof. Put as much of the walls and machinery between me and it as you can."

Jimmy immediately grabbed the object, which weighed about 70 pounds, and removed it from the area. In a moment, Clark could feel himself getting stronger, but at a slower rate than he would have liked. It was then that the door to the stairwell opened, and Perry White, Editor-In-Chief of _The Daily Planet_, and the man they all reported-to, came out onto the roof. Turning to one side, he saw Lois kneeling down beside Superman, who was lying on the floor, his back up against the masonry of the globe's foundation. Some of the stonework was cracked. And Superman's face was bloody.

"Great Caesar's ghost!" He rushed over, bending down beside Lois. By now, Jimmy was also returning. "Clark, my God man, what happened?"

"Hey, Chief," Clark responded, trying to smile. It wasn't pretty, as most of his teeth were covered in a thin film of blood. Clark started to struggle as if to rise, but three sets of hands shoved him unceremoniously back down.

"No, no, no you don't," barked Lois. "You're staying right where you are. We don't know how hurt you are yet."

"Trust me, Lois, I'm feeling better already," Clark insisted.

"I gotta tell you, son, Lois is right. You are bleeding, y'know. That in and of itself is pretty alarming," Perry added.

"And what if Cat, or Gil, or any of the other staff come up here and see you guys hovering over a bleeding Superman? I musta made quite a racket when I hit the building," Clark responded, wiping his nose and mouth with his hand. When he looked at the blood on his fingers, he appeared quite amazed.

"Don't worry, I told everyone it was just Maintenance doing work on the globe. They're all at their desks. Besides, with the big Weekender Edition coming out day after tomorrow, nobody has any time for breaks," the Great Gray Mastodon of the city's greatest newspaper growled.

"So how'r you gonna explain Lois, Jimmy, and I being gone?" Clark asked his boss. Normally he wasn't insolent, but his head was still ringing, and frankly, he felt lousy.

Pursing his lips, Perry glanced away in annoyance. "Don't know. Think of somethin'," he muttered. He looked back at the team of Lane and Kent. Two great reporters and civilian crime-fighters. It still sometimes gave Perry a feeling of warm, fuzzy willies that his Number 2 star reporter (right behind Lois Lane at Number 1) was not only his friend, but the world's greatest superhero as well. Even so, Clark had such a way of putting people at ease, that for the most part Perry looked on him as an almost-son, and as such, Clark's abilities had come, in Perry's mind, to seem simply like… just another part of Clark. But, occasionally, the idea, or more accurately, the _sense_, that he was in the presence and good graces of something holy and, no pun intended, _otherworldly_, would cause a pleasant little chill down Perry White's spine. Still, as cool as it was to know the living icon the world knew as Superman, for Perry the best part was knowing the whole man who was Clark Kent. And, like any loved-one, Perry didn't want to see one of his own injured or in pain. But, that this was _Kal-El_ who was bleeding and in pain added a great urgency to the situation. "What scares me is, why are you bleeding? What the hell happened up there?" Perry asked gently.

"Me thinks there be Kryptonite here," Clark gurgled, trying to do his best Caribbean pirate impression. It always gave Jason a laugh, and what the heck, he figured a little humor might relax his friends and wife just a bit. Instead, they seemed to become more alarmed. Lois' heart rate doubled, and Jimmy let out an audible gasp. Clark indicated the object, which Jimmy had taken to the far end of the roof. "That piece was the last one I grabbed, and as soon as I did, I felt sick and weak. It really did feel like being hit by a car or something. Almost before I realized what was happening, I was here with you guys standing over me. I'm just glad I was able to prevent any real damage."

At that, Jimmy's face took on a stricken look, as did Lois'. Clark was clearly in shock by now, but he still was able to read the expressions passing between two of the people he loved most. "What?" he asked, dread tingeing his voice.

"Well, Dear..," Lois began.

"Look, don't worry about anything right now other than letting us get you some medical attention," Perry barked, effectively derailing their thoughts. "Your bleeding should have stopped by now, and it hasn't."

"Guys, c'mon look, I'll be alr…"

"God_dammit_, Clark, shut up and sit still!" Lois snapped.

That got everyone's attention. Meekly, Clark replied, "Yes, Dear."

"You got that right," Lois grumbled, pulling out her cellphone. Punching in a full number from memory, she waited for the other end to pick up.

"Dad? Lo' here. You busy?" A pause. "Sorry, but we got a code green. Can you get over to the office?" Another pause. She looked over at her husband. Clark looked back, a deer in the headlights. "Standby-one," she said, turning to Perry. "Chief, any chance we can get the company chopper to bring Dad over to the old building? He can get here from there quicker than if he takes a car in from home."

The "old Building" to which Lois referred was the newer skyscraper which had been the temporary home to _The Daily Planet_ for a number of years back when Clark had first started with the paper. The _original_ building, where they worked now, was far older, with an art-deco rooftop globe and patio area, whereas the newer tower sported a flat roof with a helipad. The reason the offices had been housed in the newer tower when Clark started was that, at that time, the older building was being gutted and cleaned of asbestos and other carcinogens that had been common in construction dating from the 1910's. In the end, many of the office floors had been enlarged and re-designed with a more contemporary layout and infrastructure. By the time Clark had returned from his "Five Year Mission" as he and Lois had taken to calling his absence, _The Daily Planet_'s editorial offices were once again housed in the building that bore its namesake, the famous bronze and glass globe which had become the landmark of the Symbol of Hope for the city of Metropolis. The newer tower, at 220 East 42nd Street, was the home of _The Planet_'s printing presses and distribution arm, as well as handling the printing for a number of other papers, and was also the headquarters of WGBS, the largest broadcasting station on the Eastern Seaboard.

There were only two people in the world Clark Kent could trust to act as his primary-care physicians. Lucious Fox was one, even though he was not licensed as a medical doctor. The other was Lois Lane's father, General Sam Lane, United States Army (Retired) who had been licensed to practice medicine anywhere in the U.S. when he was on active duty. The fact that he was treating a lone Kryptonian never seemed to General Lane as anything other than doing his civic (and familial) duty.

"No, I don't think he's bleeding internally. Looks more like… blunt force trauma. Clark, can you tell me if you think there is anything broken inside?" Lois asked him. After a moment of deep breathing, running his hands over his form, he looked back up at her and shook his head. Which, as soon as he did, he realized his mistake. _That hurt!_ he thought, ironically. _I wonder if this is what a hangover feels like?_

As if reading Clark's mind, Jimmy leaned down and said quietly, "Clark, you look the way I feel after a few too many drinks at The Ace O' Clubs!"

Clark looked at Jimmy with an expression of long-suffering dismay. Taking the hint, Jimmy cast his eyes down and muttered, "Sorry, Clark. I didn't mean to…"

Looking at Jimmy as understandingly as possible considering the pain he was still in, he started to say, "Actually, Jim, that's something we need to talk…" but before he could get any farther, he dimly heard the sound of cries for help. His expression becoming something his friends had become very familiar with, he pushed himself up shakily from the floor, stood swaying for a moment on his feet. Lois was just hanging-up the phone, and turned back to them. Perry had already gone downstairs to phone the chopper crew and alert them that they would be making an unscheduled passenger run.

Meanwhile, Clark had already reached the edge of the roof. Following his gaze, Jimmy could see two things happening at once: one was the helicopter lifting off from the roof of the other _Planet_ building on 42nd Street. The other was a fire that was burning it's way out of the windows of a skyscraper about a mile away. There was a ragged hole in one side of the building, about 50 stories up from the ground, and it was from there that the fire was originating. Clearly Superman had missed some of the debris from the falling Eldef Satellite. And now, people were in harm's way as a result of his blunder.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" his wife demanded.

"Clark, really, you need to stay down. You're hurt," Jimmy added, placing his hand on Clark's arm in a placating gesture.

Looking at them with as much compassion as he could muster with a throbbing skull and bloody nose, he responded, "Those people are going to be hurt a lot worse if I don't try to help. They're well above the height that even the tallest rescue ladder or hook-and-ladder can reach. I have to do something!" He was trying his best to use his "Superman" voice, but to those who knew him so well, he sounded shaky and coarse.

Before Lois or Jimmy could protest any further, Clark had launched himself from the edge of the roof, in the direction of the burning skyscraper. His leap carried him all of eight feet before, much to his surprise, and Lois and Jimmy's horror, he plummeted straight down toward the street, some 50 stories below.

As they watched, riveted, they could distinguish his cape flapping upward as he rapidly dwindled in size, falling at terminal velocity until he was nothing more than a large red and blue dot. They could just make out his voice, drifting up to them as he yelled, "Loooook oooout belowwwww!" just before he hit the pavement of the sidewalk, shattering the cement into a spiderweb of broken concrete. At least five car alarms went off, and the display window in the adjacent shop at the ground floor exploded inward in a spray of glass shards from the concussion.

Lois and Jimmy, for their part, were already running down the stairs to the nearest elevator bay, hoping for the best, but fearing the worst.

**_Please read and review! Thanks!!_**


	2. Chapter 2

_DC Comics owns Superman, not me._

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**CHAPTER 2**

Clark Kent may have been born Kal-El of Krypton, but he was raised Clark Jerome Kent, by Jonathon and Martha Kent, who were good, solid Midwesterners; Protestant Methodists, and typical of the kind of self-reliant, salt-of-the-earth people who built America during the height of The Great Depression. The one thing they couldn't stand was depending on others. The other thing they couldn't stand was embarrassment.

That's why, when Superman's head cleared after his unceremonious 50-story belly-flop onto the sidewalk in front of _The Daily Planet_, his first thought was…

'_Oh, boy, I hope nobody saw that!'_

"Did you see that!?" yelled one of the many pedestrians who had heard Clark screaming for people to get out of the way as he plummeted into their midst and smashed to the pavement like a sack of wet cement. Turns out, pretty much everyone within 1,000 feet saw it, and were rushing forward to get closer to the action. Luckily for all involved, two of the onlookers were MPD cops, one of whom had EMT training, and they were able to quickly reach the fallen hero's side. Of course, this _was_ Superman, and the natural respect and awe people held for him, plus a healthy amount of natural timidity in his presence, kept the crowd from becoming unruly. Indeed, many were already pulling out their cellphones, and the two cops began to hear inquiries of "Should we call 911?" "Do you officers need any help?" "I have a blanket in my trunk," and so on.

"Thanks, folks, that's very kind of you," the older of the two cops told the crowd. "My partner's calling it in right now, but if some of you could go to either end of the block and direct traffic onto the next street over so the ambulance can get through, I'd appreciate it. Be careful out there in the intersections!" He turned back to Superman, not sure what to expect. Kneeling down beside the superhero whom he'd actually met once or twice before on a couple of runs where Superman had been helping out, he still felt a certain trepidation regarding how familiar he could be to the alien. He also was trying to decide if it really was Superman, or merely a costumed jumper who wanted to go out with a big splash. After an uncertain moment, he gently placed his hand on the man's Spandex-clad shoulder, and then moved it carefully toward his neck.

The Kryptonian was warm, and there was a definite pulse. He also, at that moment, drew in a ragged, painful breath.

"Oh, my God! It's really him! Superman? Can you hear me? You still with us?" the officer asked. Hey, what else do you say to a guy who just did a sidewalk faceplant from the roof of a skyscraper and seemed to be intact and breathing?

"Uhhhnnn… yeah… but I'm not enjoying it…" Clark mumbled, concrete dusk blowing out from his mouth and nose, which were bleeding even more than when he landed on the roof. Slowly, in obvious agony, Clark placed his hands flat on the broken sidewalk under his prone form, and did a poor impression of a push-up, finally getting up on his hands and knees and rolling into a sitting (or, rather, sagging) position.

"You probably shouldn't move, just yet…" the cop/EMT warned.

Superman gamely put up one hand to show that it was no problem. "'S okay. Really. It hurts worse than it looks."

The cop put out a steadying hand to help Superman lean back against the wall of the building. "What happened to you?" he asked reasonably.

Superman looked at him with one eye; the other was developing a nice shiner, and was almost closed. His lip was split, there was still some blood oozing from his teeth, and his nose was bleeding freely.

"Officer Downes… ya ever have one of _those_ days?"

By now, Lois and Jimmy had raced out of the doors of the building, turned down the street where the crowd was gathered, and pushed their way forward until they were front and center. Before Lois could move in closer, Jimmy, knowing what he had to do and hating himself all the while for doing it, nevertheless raised his camera to his eye and started shooting images. Hearing the motor drive on the camera, Lois looked over and saw Jimmy doing what needed to be done. In fact, he wasn't the only one. From the moment they'd gotten close enough to the crowd, they had seen numerous onlookers using cameras, mostly on their cellphones, to record both stills and video of The Caped Wonder looking like he'd just been seriously mugged.

Resigning herself to the inevitable, she turned back toward the situation at hand and moved forward, flashing her press credential with a no-nonsense, "Lois Lane, _Daily Planet_!"

She needn't have bothered. The two cops knew who she was, knew of her friendship with Superman, and gladly allowed her forward. The older cop addressed her quietly.

"Miss Lane, I'm an EMT. Stuart Downes, Metropolis PD. I'm no expert on Kryptonian physiology, but he has a strong pulse, he's breathing and speaking to us. If he were a human, I'd say it was no worse than taking a few bad punches. Of course, he's no human, and I'm not sure what to do to help him at this point," he finished apologetically.

Lois appreciated his kindness, and made an effort to keep her tone from being brusque.

"Thanks, Officer Downes, but don't worry. Medical attention is on the way," she offered.

Downes looked at her incredulously. "Who in the world would you call?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Lois gave him a bland look. "His private doctor. Who else?"

An hour later, the General, Dr. Sam Lane, was wrapping up his exam of Clark, whom he and Lois had driven back to their building at 344 Clinton Street. This was not easy, and secrecy was achieved by first taking Superman into the Daily Planet building, getting him up to the roof in one single elevator run, helping him back into his three-piece suit, cleaning his face up, and then simply escorting him to the loading docks on the other side of the building and into Lois's waiting car, the same PT Cruiser that Clark had bought her last Christmas.

By now, safely at home, Clark was stripped to his shorts, sitting on a table while his father-in-law talked. The Suit was draped over a nearby chair. In the early days of his daughter's marriage to the most powerful being on Earth, it had taken the General, a normally reserved and stern man, a while to get over being somewhat star struck in the presence of Superman, but after seeing him doing superhuman feats in the more relaxed persona of Clark, he too had finally accepted Clark's gifts as just unique talents rather than alien magic.

"Son, you know as well as I do that the biggest problem we're dealing with here is that you're the only one of your race on this planet. It's not like we have any texts or primers to consult," Sam Lane intoned to his son-in-law.

Clark sat, self-consciously with his hands clasped and resting between his thighs. He let out a sigh. "Sir, I'm not that different from a human. Everything's in pretty-much the same place. The physiology is nearly identical."

"I know, and actually, I've been thinking about this for a while," the General responded. "And, dammit, I _am_ your father-in-law… when are you gonna start calling me Dad?" Before Clark could respond, the General continued.

"What would we do if we needed to treat you medically, I mean? And, I think there may be some ways to achieve that, if you're willing to put up with some experimentation. For example: how did Martha cut your hair?" Sam asked.

Clark's face twisted in amusement. "When I was very young, she used these really big garden shears. They worked until I became a teenager. At that point I became more molecularly dense, and the blades would dull or chip during a haircut. After that, we made up some scissors with the blades edged with Kryptonite. Works like a charm, but it always makes me dizzy."

"I'm wondering if we might come up with a method of shielding you from all solar radiation striking the Earth," Sam responded, rubbing his chin with his right hand. "You have a basement in this building, don't you?"

"Actually, we have a main basement, and a sub-basement," Clark responded.

"If we were to try such a thing, it might work best down there. But exactly how to do it? Not only that, but we'd have to find a way to simulate the radiation from Krypton's red sun," the General theorized.

"I'd be willing to bet that the AI at The Fortress could tell us how. If I had the crystals. Unfortunately, they were lost with the New Krypton continent when I tossed it into space," Clark mused. "Lex Luthor had one remaining crystal, which he was kind enough to return to me, but the data on it is not enough to regenerate the rest of them. Without them, I'm afraid this is no more than a thought exercise," he finished, despair evident in his voice.

"Do you know what happened to the others?" Sam asked.

"Not exactly," Clark allowed. Then he looked at Sam with an expression of reservation in his eyes. "But I can think of one way to find out."

"What's that?" his father-in-law asked.

"Looks like I'll be paying a visit to Lex Luthor," Clark announced, hopping down from the table.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

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As he whacked the little white ball a good 250 yards down his own private fairway to land within 20 feet of the pin, the man who had, until recently, considered himself The Greatest Criminal Mind of Our Time, gave an appreciative smile and started walking toward the green, handing his club to his portly caddy. Having had a large tumor removed from his brain may have also eliminated the cause of his antisocial behavior and criminal tendencies, but Lex Luthor still considered himself the greatest mind of our time in a general sense. He just wished he had more than such a limited time left in which to enjoy it.

Otis took the wood from Lex Luthor and placed it back into its slot in the golf bag, and together they strolled over the long, verdant expanse of grass, Otis trailing the bag on its wheels behind him. It was a brilliant early fall morning at the old Vanderworth Estate, the leaves on the maple trees to the right of the fairway were just starting to turn golden, and the invigorating scent of salt air came drifting on the breeze from the waters of Hobb's Bay. Both Otis and Lex were wearing coats; Lex in his beloved beige overcoat, and Otis in a soft leather A2 bomber jacket, his trademark loud Hawaiian shirt flashing underneath as he walked.

Otis had been in difficult straits ever since being released from prison a few years back, and although he had tried to go legit, he had found himself doing the occasional small-time burglary to supplement his meager income as a night watchman for a large security company. Usually, he got sent to guard impound yards (which enabled him to boost car stereos) and Otis's life, at the age of 45, was going nowhere.

After his brain surgery, and his dramatic change in attitude, Lex had done some digging, had found out about Otis' situation, and had offered him a job. At first, the portly ne'er do well had wanted nothing to do with Mr. Luthor, but after Lex's emphatic reassurances that he was no longer involved in criminal activity, and had even befriended Superman, Otis was coaxed back into the fold. Lex had even taken it upon himself to assist Otis in furthering his meager education, and was personally tutoring Otis in various subjects that would allow the man to make his own way in life at a somewhat higher level than he had realistically hoped for. And, bless him, he actually showed a certain amount of promise. It wasn't that Otis was a stupid person, but that he had been treated as one most of his life, and had undergone a woefully inadequate education as he had been raised in an orphanage, where the attitude was that manual labor was more important than learning. However, despite his mistakes regarding his direction in the earlier years of his life, despite his more recent bad decisions in the areas of petty theft, Otis had a surprising grasp of common sense, and he certainly displayed a good-hearted demeanor. And so Lex had made it a personal mission to give Otis an education, as a way of atoning for his previous corruption of the man, not to mention being part of the cause of Otis' imprisonment. Granted, Otis would never be a Rhodes Scholar, but he was well on his way to self-sufficiency and a newfound ability to exercise critical thinking.

Today, as they strolled alongside the private, narrow fairway, they were discussing recent developments in the creation and distribution of energy.

"So what you're saying," Otis began as they navigated the serpentine sidewalk that ran the length of the two-hole course, separating the two fairways on either side with its tree-lined path, "is that this system can separate a water molecule into its three individual atoms, and in a gaseous form send it to the carburetor for combustion?"

"That's correct, Otis," Lex responded.

"And it does this using two stainless steel tubes to act as electrodes? Sounds like the way chrome plating is done," Otis surmised. "A friend of mine had a shop where he did plating, and he used a similar setup to what you're talkin' about. But, even though we had to keep the room ventilated and the doors open, we didn't get much hydrogen, at least not quick. It would take quite a while to store up enough hydrogen to be useful, wouldn't it? And wouldn't you need a big tank? And what about explosion hazards?"

"Well, that's all true, Otis," Lex allowed. "However, in this case, it's hydrogen on demand. The system cracks the water at a much faster rate, and the chamber is very small, which allows adequate pressure to build up rapidly. No need for a tank. It works on-demand, and feeds directly into the carb or fuel injection system."

"You mean like instant hot-water heaters that go under the sink and give you instant boiling water for tea or coffee," Otis snapped his fingers.

"_Ja volt_. The secret is in the electronics. Basically, the electronics bring the power coming in the electrolyzer to a level and form that causes a much more rapid rate of electrolysis, enough to meet the needs of the engine," Lex pontificated.

"Well, if that's so, then why haven't the oil companies or the car companies or the power companies started using it, huh Mr. Luthor?" Otis asked.

Luthor gave him a look of equal parts pity and resignation. "Beats the shit outta me!"

"Me, too, come to think of it," came a deep voice from above.

Both men looked up to see Superman hovering about 12 feet overhead and slightly behind them. "Sorry. Wasn't trying to eavesdrop. It's a quiet morning, and I couldn't help but overhear," he explained as he settled to a landing near them.

"Ah, the Big Blue Boy Scout," Luthor announced. "To what do we owe the pleasure? Ah, Otis, take the gentleman's cape…"

Otis automatically started forward, saw the look of incredulity on Superman's face, realized he was being toyed with, and turned back to Luthor with a small smile. "Sorry, Boss. I fell for that one once before!"

"One of us is learning something," Luthor smiled back.

"Actually, I apologize if I'm interrupting your game, but I needed a few minutes of your time, if possible," the caped superhero explained.

"No apologies needed. Anything I can do to help. Ah, Otis, I'm gonna putt out and call it a game, so if you don't mind taking the bag back, you can relax until after lunch. Just hand me the putter," Luthor said to his assistant. A moment later, Clark and Lex were walking the rest of the way to the putting green, which was situated at the edge of the property, with a drop-off at the far end of the green going into the bay itself.

"Lex, I have a couple of things I need to know from you, and I need a real honest answer," Superman began.

"Clark, I'm a bit put off by that. In all the years you've known me, have you ever known me to lie?" It was one of those loaded questions where no matter how you answered, you had the sinking feeling of stepping into moral and conversational quicksand. "Never mind. What do you need to know?"

"First, do you still have any Kryptonite anywhere?" Clark asked without further preamble.

"Well, as a matter of fact, I do still have that one little piece, the one that…" Lex finished self-consciously.

Involuntarily putting his right hand to the old wound on his back, Clark responded, "Yeah, not that one. I mean a larger amount. How much did you ever have?"

"The first batch went into that pendant I… used on you, the one you threw into the sewer. I never recovered that. The second one, which I assayed from the rock that I stole from the Metropolis Museum, all the rest of that went into the cylinder that created the continent," Lex offered.

Clark looked him directly in the eye. Lex looked back, raised his hands in supplication.

"Hey, honest to God. You're more than welcome to search me or the property. In fact, if you want that remaining shard, you're welcome to it." Lex looked at him without breaking eye contact, and Clark could see his mind forming the next question. "Why do you ask?"

Clark decided the truth couldn't hurt. "Well, there was some on board that Eldef satellite that crashed the other day. I was wondering if you had sent up some kind of experiment package on it."

"What could anyone possibly gain by putting Kryptonite on an LDEF satellite?" Lex mused, almost to himself. Looking back at Clark, he continued, "Everything I needed to know about Kryptonite I learned from direct experience, or from Jor-El's A.I. I would have no reason to launch some into space."

Giving Lex a thorough look-see, Clark was quickly convinced the inventor was telling him the truth. Lex looked right back at his old boyhood friend/enemy/friend again, and said, "I guess that explains the black eye."

Clark looked sharply at him. "How could you tell I have a black eye?"

Lex smiled. "You're wearing makeup to cover it. It's kind of obvious. Plus, you're limping slightly, and your bottom lip is a bit swollen."

"You can see the makeup?" Clark squeaked.

"In prison, you see a certain amount of drag queens and punk bitches. Most of them apply makeup about as well as you do," Lex smiled.

Clark couldn't help but chuckle, even if he was a bit embarrassed. "Yeah, well… my second question is about the other crystals. Can you tell me what happened to them?"

Lex looked pensive for a moment, then let out a sigh. "Kitty threw them out the door of the helicopter just as we were taking off from the continent. They landed on the ground right where we had parked the chopper. But, considering your heaving it into space, they could be anywhere by now." Suddenly, Lex seemed to brighten, and he snapped his fingers. "However, I may know how you can get some more!" he exclaimed.

"How's that?" Clark asked, intrigued.

"Follow me," and Lex began walking rapidly toward the mansion, his ball which was still in play, forgotten.

A few minutes later, Lex and Superman were standing in the middle of the basement train room where Lex had conducted the first experiment with the Kryptonian crystals. The giant crystal which had grown from the model railroad's central pool, and had caused the EMP that blacked-out all of the Eastern Seaboard, was still there, dominating the shattered railroad exhibit and the broken concrete flooring.

Clark had never seen this before, due to the amount of lead-based paint covering the walls, ceiling, and floors of the old mansion, and he was rendered momentarily speechless. After a few moments to examine the structure, he found his voice.

"How did you get this?"

"It grew from a tiny fragment we managed to grind off of one of the crystals. Frankly, I'd be thrilled to get rid of it, but nothing on Earth can cut it. Can you do anything with it?" Lex asked.

Clark ran his hand over the alien-yet-familiar surface. He slowly let out the breath he was holding. "Well, I can't break it or cut, if that's what you mean."

"I was thinking maybe you could re-grow the other crystals from it," Lex supplied.

Clark shook his head. "No, this stuff has no storage or regeneration capacities that I can tell, otherwise it would glow as I approached it. I take it the water in the pool was fresh water?"

Lex looked up and down the giant crystal before responding. "Yes, I believe it was. Why?"

Clark returned to where Lex was standing, gestured to the crystal. "You would need to use ocean water for this to be 'alive.' This is dormant, non-reactive. Basically it's nothing more than Kryptonian building material."

"And you can't cut it or smash it?" Lex wondered.

"No more than you could break or smash reinforced concrete with your bare hands," Clark replied. "It's Kryptonian. It's as strong as I am."

"Could you simply remove the thing whole?" Lex asked.

Clark looked up at the ceiling and down through the floor for a moment. "Well, yeah, I suppose that's possible. But we'd have to dismantle a good part of the building and the concrete floor here just to get it out. That thing is extending almost thirty feet into the ground. And the damage to the building could be severe," he added. "In fact, you're really lucky you didn't cut through any sewer or water or gas lines when this thing formed, or cause the whole house to come crashing down around your ears." Clark looked at his old foe and smiled, "You know, you've really got my work cut out for me, Lex!"

"Anything I can do to screw up your day!" Lex Luthor deadpanned, then laughed.

"Let's discuss it further over lunch. Miss Teschmacher's got steaks grilling!"


	4. Chapter 4

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A few blocks away from _The Planet_, Jimmy Olsen was hunched over his fourth beer at The Ace O' Clubs.

It wasn't even noon, yet.

Jimmy was one of a large number of patrons who favored The Ace, as they referred to the place, mostly because it catered to newspaper journalists. The owner of the place, Bo, an older gentleman who, like Jimmy, favored bow ties, had himself once been a Cub Reporter for _The Planet_ in the 1950's, but since he'd never risen any further than that (and it took four years as a copy boy before he even got near the chance to cover a story) Bo had finally given-up his dream of being an ace reporter, and eventually become a bartender and restaurateur, over time saving enough to purchase and renovate The Ace into a pleasant, welcoming public house that beckoned journalists with constant news-on-tap via the many plasma and LCD monitors mounted around the room constantly displaying news feeds from around the world, juxtaposed against the elegant venerability of dark wood and rich leather.

Jimmy Olsen, at 11-something in the morning on a work day, was getting drunk.

That was how Clark found him when he walked into the place. Jimmy was sitting at the bar, hunched protectively over his bottle of beer, staring at the wood surface of the bar top. Clark could tell, from a good twenty feet away, that Jimmy was about three sheets to the wind. This gave him a moment of pause, for although he had had occasion to down a few beers with the young photographer himself, he had never really seen Jimmy out-and-out drunk. Bo, wiping-down the counter nearby, caught Clark's eye, and motioned with a nod toward Clark's inebriated friend, shrugged, then turned away to attend another customer. Clark approached Jimmy, placed a large hand on his best friend's shoulder. Jimmy looked around and up at Clark. Fuzzily.

"Jim, you look like you could use some company," he began.

Jimmy simply looked back down at his beer again. Clark sat in the stool next to him, and raised his hand for a beer.

"Do you know whaaat iss like, Cclarkk, to have the chance of a lifetime and blow it?" the young man asked, facing him again. Clark could smell the fetid scent of digested alcohol on Jimmy's breath. Before he could form a response, the young photographer, obviously speaking rhetorically, answered his own question with bitterness tingeing his voice.

"No, of course you don't. Why would you… you're…" he paused, frozen, wavering. Clark wondered if Jimmy was going to forgo their friendship and drunkenly blurt out Clark's secret in front of the whole bar. But, after a moment, Jimmy seemed to shrink in on himself, casting his eyes down. "You're _you_. Clark Kent. Mild-mannered reporter for a great metra-paaalitan newspaper. I'll bet you've never even been drunk before, huh? Clark?" Taking a deep swig of his beer, Jimmy continued. "Did you know, _Clark_… that I haven't sold or published a picture in three months? Yep. Three, count 'em, three months. Perry said if I don't get on the ball, he's gonna fire me."

Clark decided that this was the kind of conversation that needed to happen in a more private place. Clark led Jimmy over to the back area of the large room, into a booth where they could enjoy some anonymity. Clark was a little worried that drinking a beer himself might encourage Jimmy to order another, but at the same time he wanted the younger man to feel as though they were speaking as friends and not working partners or landlord-to-super, as Jimmy was "sort-of" in charge of the day-to-day upkeep and operation (effectively the "super") of the apartment building Clark owned at 344 Clinton Street.

"So, buddy, you wanna tell me what's really on your mind?" Clark started, trying to cut directly to the heart of the matter.

"Actually, Clark, I lied. I did sell a picture this week. It was the one of you lying on the sidewalk, bleeding from the face. You must hate my guts," the young man mumbled, morose.

"Why in the world would you think that?" Clark asked, stunned.

"Because I'm supposed to be your best friend. And what's the first thing I do when you're down and hurt? Do I help you? Noooo. Do I offer you support? Noooo. I take pictures of you to sell newspapers and fill my wallet, like some paparazzi faggot!" Jimmy wasn't even looking at Clark, his gaze focused instead on his beer bottle as he pushed it around in a small circle, making the liquid ring on the table top grow larger and more spread out. Clark started to speak, but just as he opened his mouth, Jimmy continued.

"Almost my whole living is based around you! I have to get pictures of y… _Superman_ (he whispered) every time something happens. All my assignments are coverage of yours and Lois's stories, especially about Superman. I even live under your roof because I can't afford a regular place of my own! I feel like a beggar, a piker. And now, what do I do when you're vulnerable? I take a _picture_ of it. Do you have any idea how ashamed that makes me feel?" Jimmy finished his sentence, looked down at his beer, and burped.

Clark's heart sank. He had no idea that his young friend was carrying such an emotional burden on his slight shoulders. But, Clark still had the strong hunch that Jimmy was somehow avoiding a deeper issue. For a moment, he was truly at a loss as to how to respond. Finally, just to fill the growing silence, he offered the only thing he could think of:

"Jim, it's really not like that at all. Sometimes we have to do things in our jobs that we don't like, or that are unpleasant or distasteful to us," Clark stated hopefully.

But Jimmy wasn't listening. He was still slowly swirling his bottle, seemingly hypnotized by the moisture on the tabletop. "Just a paparazzi faggot," he repeated quietly.

_That's the second time he's used that word… faggot,_ thought Clark.

"Jim, I can't stand to hear you talk about yourself that way," he gently replied.

"Why the hell not?" said the young man, bitterness filling his voice. "That's what the Chief thinks."

That made Clark's eyes open wide.

"Where would you ever get that idea?" Clark gulped.

"I heard him say it," the young photographer fired back.

"I'm sure you must've been mistaken…"

"No, Clark, I wasn't mistaken. I was there when he said it!" Jimmy stated firmly.

Clark sat there, thunderstruck. He couldn't believe Perry White would be so intolerant of one of his staff, especially Jimmy, that he would make such a hateful remark.

"Did he say this to you, directly?" Clark inquired.

Jimmy hesitated before answering. "No… he was talking to Steve Lombard. I happened to overhear…"

Clark shook his head. "Everyone tends to use abusive language around Steve. He just seems to influence us that way. Why do you think we call him Grizzly? And besides, how do you know Perry was referring to you?" he concluded reasonably.

"He's not the only one. Cat Grant has made a few not-so-subtle remarks about me and Bert, and I know the whole office is laughing at me when they think I don't know it," Jimmy responded morosely. Bert was Cuthbert, a recent arrival to _The Planet_ from West Africa, a large, dark ebony man, strapping and powerful, with a rich, deep, melodious voice, better manners and etiquette than Clark had seen on anyone other than Alfred Pennyworth, a strong journalistic background, and who just happened to feel about Jimmy the same way Jimmy felt about him. In other words, love. Unfortunately, Bert was like many African males in that he was very uncomfortable allowing anyone to know of his homosexuality, or even admitting it to himself. And Jimmy, who was still struggling with his own similar feelings, was bearing the burden of keeping secrets. Add Clark's secret to the bunch, and apparently Jimmy was reaching a breaking point.

"Do you know what it's like, Clark, to not be able to tell the person I… love… how I feel? To never be able to show affection for him in public, and barely even in private? We can both hardly look at each other the way we want to without having a few drinks first. You've got Lois, Richard has Chloe, Mr. White has his wife. I can't even tell anyone that I have someone I… love, without looking like some kind of pervert."

"Well, you're not the only one, Kiddo." Clark finally stated. Jimmy looked up, his attention caught. Clark continued, "Y'know, I didn't have the guts to tell Lois I loved her. For about three years I followed her around like a lovesick puppy, let her walk all over me, played the wimp just to protect my own stupid secret, and almost lost her and my own life because of my own fears and uncertainties. And I'm supposed to be Superman!" Looking around to make sure of their privacy, Clark reached across the table, and gently but firmly grasped Jimmy's hands in his own. Clark locked eyes with Jimmy, held his gaze through force of will. His voice became deeper, the one he used as Superman.

"You listen to me. Lois loves you. I love you. And I know darned well that Perry loves you, too, otherwise he wouldn't have warned you about your performance or kept you on. He would've just canned you and gotten somebody else. And I know Cuthbert well enough to know that he's a good man, and if you and he do really love each other, then you're luckier than a lot of people out there. You just won't give yourselves permission to experience it because you're afraid. And I'm gonna tell you something else, and I'm gonna use language I don't normally use: You're a grown, talented, loveable young man, James Olsen, and I didn't bring you into my building out of pity. I did it because I trust you, and I wanted to give something back to you for all the friendship and trust, and love, you've given me. And I'll tell you another thing… if anybody ever gives you static about being Gay, or for who you are," Clark's voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned forward and stared hard into Jimmy's eyes, "… then they can _fuck_ themselves! So there!"

For a second, Jimmy was too stunned to respond. Then, before he could cover it up, his mouth quirked up into a slightly scandalized grin. Looking furtively around the room, Jimmy regarded Clark for a moment of wonder, and then said the first thing to come to mind:

"Clark, my virgin ears!"

Clark released Jimmy's hands. "Oh, shut up," the superhero smiled back.

"You never fail to amaze, Clark, I'll tell ya that!" Jimmy giggled.

"Well, my dad once told me that profanity is misused by those who have a poor vocabulary, but in the right mouth and in the right circumstances, it can work wonders!" Clark chuckled. With that, he and Jimmy clinked their beer bottles together, and drank deeply. Just as he was swirling the brew around in his mouth, Clark suddenly felt a strong, hot, electrical sensation explode in one of his lower right molars, and before he could stop himself, he placed his hand protectively on his jaw. "Oh my God!" was all he could say.

Jimmy, despite four beers, found himself sobering-up quickly, as he had never before seen Clark do something like this.

"What's wrong? Clark, are you okay?" he asked anxiously.

Clark looked up at his friend, a stricken look on his face. Jimmy could see a sudden sheen of sweat forming on Clark's forehead. "OW! Holy…" Clark looked around quickly, assuring himself of their privacy before giving voice to his feelings. "… holy SHIT! _It HURTS!!_" he ground out from between clenched teeth, his eyes squeezed shut. At that moment, the bottle he was still grasping in his left hand shattered, crushed in the Kryptonian's grip.

"What is it?" Jimmy cried.

"My tooth! Ooooh. OOOOH!" Clark moaned, obviously in extreme pain.

Suddenly Jimmy was sober as a priest on Sunday. "Open your mouth, lemme see," he commanded. Clark complied. There was just enough light to see that, indeed, one of Clark's rear mandibular molars had a slight swelling around the base at the gumline, and there appeared to be a substantial chip out of the upper inside edge. Clark was sweating freely now, and Jimmy grabbed his friend's arm and started for the door.

Once out on the street, they headed back toward _The Planet_, Clark moaning and trying his best to see through his squinting, watering eyes. "My mother always told me if I used swear words, my teeth would rot out of my head. And I thought she was kidding!" Clark ground out.

"I'll bet it happened when you hit the sidewalk in front of _The Planet_ the other day. The Kryptonite, remember?" Jimmy suggested.

"Oh, God, don't remind me," Clark moaned. "Have you ever had anything like this?" he asked, sounding less like Clark Kent and more like Jason.

"Are you kidding? That's pretty-much one of the banes of human existence," Jimmy responded. "I once broke a molar on some dirty lettuce. Hadn't been washed properly, and there was still a tiny speck of dirt in the leaf. Bit down on it and cracked the entire tooth down to the root. Had to have it pulled the next day."

Making sure no passersby could overhear, Clark, with labored breathing, asked, "Damn, how do you humans take this kind of pain?"

Jimmy looked at his friend, concern etching his face.

"Well, we can take Tylenol, or Vicodin, or codeine, or lots of liquor. But it only helps for a while. Eventually, ya gotta see a dentist. And believe me, that's no fun at all!"

"Well, none of those things will likely work… OWW… for me, but if I don't get some relief soon I'm gonna smash my head into the sidewalk. Maybe I can knock the tooth out that way!"

"Do that, and you'll really be hating life!" Jimmy stated.

By that point they had reached the doors to _The Planet_. The elevator ride up seemed to take forever. Clark knew that he'd have to call his father-in-law, and hope that the man could come up with a quick solution to the pain, not to mention fixing the problem. But, he also feared that there was little they, or anyone, could do without being able to consult the AI at The Fortress.

And as long as Clark's crystals were somewhere out in space with New Krypton, he knew that would be impossible.


	5. Chapter 5

_This is a short chapter, but I've been very busy with some other work, so the story needed to take a back seat to earning a living. However, I've just received some requests for "MORE!" so I hope this tides you over until the next chapter._

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Several hours later, Clark, Lois, and General Lane Sat together in the basement at 344 Clinton Street. Clark was still in discomfort, but The General had applied the most powerful lydocaine he could find directly to the tooth and surrounding gums of his ailing son-in-law, along with Clark's having taken eight potent vicodin tablets. Normally Clark would have begged-off from both ethical and practical considerations, but this was like nothing he'd ever felt before, and he wanted it _gone_.

Both Lois and her father were unconsciously staring at Clark, unintentionally examining him for any reaction. Clark was aware of this, and found himself getting very interested in the baseboard near the corner, or the goose-neck lamp over by the wall. Anything but his family, watching like hawks while trying unsuccessfully to appear like they weren't. Still, Clark was aware that the sharpest of the sensations had been blunted, and even the more generalized throb was fading to a dull background ache. Shrugging, he looked up at his father-in-law.

"Well, I can live with it for the time being," he said at length.

"I wasn't sure the drugs would work at all on your physiology," Sam responded. "But, as I said before, I've been thinking about this, and I have some ideas cooking around in my head and I'd like to run them past you."

"Sure," Clark replied.

"Okay first I wanna recap some stuff, and then we'll come to the theories I have," he began. He also started pacing back and forth, like some teachers do when they're addressing a class in a stream-of-thought manner on a certain subject.

"Since you've returned to Earth, you've been involved in a number of situations, including rescues, minor and major disasters, crime intervention, and the various and sundry things you encounter every day in your job as Superman. I'm going to suggest that you've handled a number of situations with, for lack of a better term… poor judgment," he said, looking Clark firmly in the eye. For his own part, Clark's eyes opened wide for a second, almost as if he'd been slapped, but before he could react any further, Lois had cut-in.

"Don't you dare talk to my husband that way," she growled. Before Mad Dog Lane could get up a good rant, however, her father raised his hand sharply, effectively silencing her. Clark looked at him with more restraint, and a certain amount of apprehension.

"I'm not accusing you of anything Clark, and I'm not chewing you out. I'm discussing, for clinical reasons, what I see as a possible pattern of behavior, if you'll let me finish," he said, looking at his daughter. Lois slowly backed down.

"Now," he continued, "the first one is the rescue of the NASA jet that was launching that space shuttle. Can you tell me where you made your mistake on that one?" the General asked Clark. The superhero looked sheepishly at his clasped hands.

"Well, I broke the plane," he finally allowed.

Unable to help herself, Lois let out a chuckle. Sam smiled a bit, too, then continued his thought.

"Do you know why?" he prodded. Clark looked at him like he had suddenly turned blue.

Sam recognized the insult and bemusement in his son-in-law's eyes, and quickly amended, "I know it sounds stupid to ask you this stuff, but I'm working toward a goal here, and you have to go through the process with me, Clark. We can't just jump from Point-A to Point-Z. We have to reason it out, one thought at a time. Okay?"

Mollified, and somewhat chagrined, Clark nodded and smiled, "I'm sorry. You're right, of course."

"Okay, so, do you remember the first time you started doing rescues here as Superman? That first night, you had occasion to rescue Air Force One as it was going down. Don't ask how I know. Rank hath its privileges. Do you remember what happened?" Sam asked, leaning forward, elbows on his knees as he sat toward Clark.

Thinking back, Clark remembered the incident clearly. Actually, as he thought about it, he realized what really stood out in his memory were the feelings of free flight and the sensation of holding not only a giant aircraft, but a _very important_ giant aircraft, aloft with only one hand. The emotions of those moments were also imprinted in strong relief on his memory, the exhilaration of his first night in public as a superhero from another world, saving the leader of the greatest nation in the world from doom. Pulling himself back to the present, he recounted, "Air Force One, the old Boeing 707, was on its way into Metropolis when it was struck by lightning at about 7,500 feet, causing an explosion of its left outboard engine. The plane started going down, and I came up from underneath and… yeah, I lifted the plane back up by acting as a substitute engine, in place of where the original had been destroyed. Part of the nacelle was still there, and it could handle the torque, so I just grabbed it and applied forward thrust as if I was an engine, and she was able to land safely."

"Okay, good. Now, on this more recent one, with the 777, what did you do?" Sam asked.

"The plane had been taken up almost to the edge of space by the shuttle before I was able to disengage them. The shuttle's engines had burned-away most of the plane's tail section. By the time I was able to get back down to the plane after launching the shuttle, she was in a flat spin with her entire tail section on fire and useless. She was spinning to the left. I flew over to her right side, and pulled back on the wing tip, hoping to slow the spin. The entire wing snapped-off in my hands." Looking haunted, Clark broke the General's gaze, finding solace in his clasped hands. "I should have gone over to the other side, to the engine on the inside of the spin, and applied forward thrust. The wing could have handled that. Then once I got her stabilized, I could have gone back, put out the fire at the tail, and assisted her in landing." He looked back up at his father-in-law and his wife, horror in his eyes.

"It's only by luck or the grace of God that those wings landed in the ocean. If they had hit the city, a lot of people would have been killed. Just like that skyscraper the other day!" Suddenly, every muscle in Clark's body seemed to tense, as though he was fighting a panic that could only be assuaged by running, running as fast as you can. People in that skyscraper, the one that had been hit by some of the debris from that satellite, had died because of him!

As if reading his thoughts, Lois and the General both crowded closer to Clark, dismay in their eyes. Lois spoke first.

"Clark, you listen to me! That was not your fault! It was a meteor that hit that satellite. It would have hurt a helluva lot more people if you hadn't taken care of it the way you did. And how were you to know that there was Kryptonite on that thing?" she scolded. Almost as an afterthought, she added, "And why was there Kryptonite on that thing? What the hell was it doing on an Eldef Satellite?"

"Which leads me to my theory about this," Sam interjected. "That satellite had Kryptonite in it. Lex Luthor stabbed you with a Kryptonite knife. You lifted a Kryptonite-infested island into space. You spent almost a year of your mission in space surrounded by an entire asteroid field made of Kryptonite. You've been making judgment errors. You ended-up in a coma. You got your face smashed-in when you fell from a 50-story building when you should have been able to fly. And now you're suffering from a painfully broken tooth. You getting the picture here? It would appear you're suffering from a case of cumulative Kryptonite poisoning."

Clark looked horrified. At length, he replied, "Good God. I never even thought of that. I will admit that I haven't been feeling really one hundred percent lately, but I just figured I needed more sun exposure. If what you're saying is correct, then I'm gonna need some serious medical attention."

Sam and Lois looked at each other, concern clear in both their expressions. "And I can tell you right now, that unless you have some Kryptonian medical knowledge up your sleeve, then we're sunk, because I don't think there's any medicine on this Earth that can do more than ease your symptoms, and not even very well at that," Sam concluded.

"If I had the rest of my crystals, the A.I. at The Fortress could take care of this. But, as we all know, they're somewhere out in space with New Krypton," Clark intoned numbly.

After a moment of pensive silence, in which both men seemed to be pondering the situation separately, Lois' mind clicked into place and she moved toward Clark, fire in her eyes.

"You aren't thinking what I think you're thinking, are you?" she asked, apprehension dripping from her words.

Clark looked at her, resolve mixed with equal parts dread. "I'm afraid so, Hon. Looks like I'm going to have to find some way to head back out into space!"


	6. Chapter 5A

_Continuing on with the story, here's another short partial chapter. Hope it keeps you tided-over. We mention a few guest characters here._

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"Oh, no you don't, Clark Kent!" Lois blustered. "The last time you did that, it was five freakin' years before you came back! I'm not gonna have Jason going through elementary school thinking his father abandoned him!"

Clark placed his hand on her arm, willing her to calm down. "Lois, it won't be like that. I should be able to figure out a way to get there and back in a reasonable amount of time."

"That's not even my main concern, here! That whole thing's made of Kryptonite. Even if you do get out there quickly, which I don't see as happening, you're still going to be exposing yourself to more poisoning while you search for those crystals!" Lois raved. "And, what do you call a 'reasonable' amount of time, huh?" she demanded hotly.

Clark thought about it for a moment before answering. "I don't know… a few days, maybe a couple of weeks?"

Before Lois could respond, her father cut-in. "Clark… how far have you ever traveled out into space before? I mean, without a ship?"

"Well, I can make it up to the Moon and back," Clark responded.

"How long can you, in practical terms, hold your breath and maintain your blood pressure in a hard vacuum?" his father-in-law asked, spearing Clark with a no-nonsense gaze.

"About 40 minutes," the Kryptonian replied without thinking.

"And how fast can you get to the Moon?"

"If I really push myself, and assuming I don't want to open a wormhole or start an accidental time warp… about 5 seconds," Clark allowed.

"Okay, then that means you're moving at about 60 percent of the speed of light," the General concluded.

"Sounds about right," Clark agreed.

"You can actually go that fast?" Lois blurted, incredulous.

"Make no mistake, it _is_ an effort," her husband smiled.

"So that means it would take you an average of 35 minutes to get as far as Mars, depending upon where it is in its orbit," Sam responded.

"And that means you'd run out of air just after getting there," Lois added. "So it's not gonna work," she finished glumly.

"Who says?" asked Clark. "I mean, why couldn't I go up in a space suit and a PLSS backpack?"

"Still doesn't deal with the question of the Kryptonite radiation," Sam replied. "Those suits aren't lead-lined, you know. And they're very, very expensive, as well. _And_, they're made for men who are not nearly as big as you. There are no astronauts that are much over six feet, and you're six-four and two-hundred-twenty pounds," the General sighed.

"So what are we gonna do?" Clark asked. A heavy silence followed, before Lois finally spoke.

"Shit," she spat.

"Hell," her father added.

"Golly," Clark concluded.

After another second of silence, both father, daughter, and superhero simultaneously began a long, soul-warming laugh. After a few moments, the trio settled-down, and the General put his hand to his chin, his "pondering pose" as Lois thought of it. Even Clark watched the man's gears turning, keeping quiet, letting his father-in-law's thought processes play out to the conclusion he was, obviously, approaching.

Finally, he looked back up at Lois and Clark, who appeared to give every indication of being on the edge of their seats.

"I just remembered. There may yet be a way to get you into space safely, provided I'm not chasing a wild goose here," Sam stated.

"NASA?" Lois asked.

"Not exactly, though they might figure into it before all is said and done," her father responded.

"ESA?" Clark ventured.

"Nope," Sam shook his head.

After another silence, Lois finally cracked. "Well don't keep it to yourself, Dad! What is it?"

"A few years ago, while you were away, Clark, a small group of people sort of… stole the Space Shuttle _Columbia_, and flew it to the Moon. NASA was very embarrassed, and tried to keep it quiet, but it did in fact happen," Sam intoned.

"I never heard of this," Clark gasped.

"You were away," Lois supplied.

"Why'd they do it?" Clark fairly squeaked.

"And what jail are they in now?" Lois snarked.

"They aren't in jail," Sam explained. "They actually had an ironclad contract to 'borrow' or rent the Shuttle, even though NASA had no idea about this when they signed off on it. And their reasons were unimpeachable: they wanted to harvest Helium-3 from Shorty Crater, near the Apollo 17 landing site. The fire beads Jack Schmidt and Gene Cernan discovered there, along the rim of the crater, were a veritable gold mine for that element. They were planning to use it to power a cold-fusion reactor. The resultant energy would allow the world to get off of the oil tit once and for all. They even had that American Indian journalist with them, Penny High Eagle," Sam finished.

"I've seen her work. She's good, if a bit populist," Lois remarked.

"So, what ever happened with that?" Clark asked. "How come we're still using oil?"

"Big business, combined with public apathy, and a vigorous smear and hush-up campaign, effectively buried their work," Sam stated flatly. "Their ideas were big. But the oil interests were bigger. Bush, Cheney, and their friends saw to that,"

"So, how do we find out how they did it, and if we can do something similar?" asked Lois.

A gleam began to form in General Sam Lane's eye. Looking at Lois and Clark, he rose from his chair.

"Kids, I want you to go down to _The Planet_, and maybe even the Library of Congress, and dig-up anything you can find on a former NASA engineer named Jack Medaris, and Medaris Enterprises. He's the guy you need to see!"

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_Very Special thanks to friend, author, and former NASA rocket man Homer Hickam, writer of THE ROCKET BOYS (which became the film OCTOBER SKY), and BACK TO THE MOON, and his latest novel, RED HELMET, for allowing Clark, Lois, and me to play with, and use, his original characters Jack Medaris and Penny High Eagle, the stars of BACK TO THE MOON. His books are well worth reading, especially BACK TO THE MOON. Run, don't walk, to get your copy!_


	7. Chapter 6A

_Okay, here's where we meet Jack Medaris and Penny High Eagle, on loan to this story by their creator, author (and friend) Homer Hickam, who wrote BACK TO THE MOON (starring Medaris and High Eagle), and THE ROCKET BOYS (which became the movie OCTOBER SKY), and his latest novel, RED HELMET._

_Thanks, Homer and Linda! Thanks also, to all of you who keep my spirits up with your thoughtful reviews. Keep 'em coming!_

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Jack Medaris and his wife, Penny High Eagle, glared daggers at each other, each convinced that the other was in the wrong.

Normally, Penny was the more brash and forceful of the two, especially during their frequent arguments. Both of them were highly opinionated, totally certain of their own correctness, and usually quite ready to fight very stubbornly for their position.

But this time, Medaris was clutching a knife in his hand.

A long, dangerous-looking butcher knife that, to High Eagle, seemed suddenly all the more lethal because it was mild-mannered Jack holding it, looking like some random assailant from the nearest alley.

The only thing keeping Penny from regarding the knife being brandished in her husband's hand as a weapon were the bits of diced onion all over it.

"I swear, Medaris, guys like you are the reason God created microwaves!" she thundered.

Jack had just finished chopping the onions, and was getting ready to dump them into the spaghetti sauce he was trying to make. Several cookbooks were scattered on the countertops nearby, along with a generous amount of various ingredients which were speckled and spotted in a mess on the granite surfaces.

Jack Medaris, CEO and Owner of Medaris Engineering Corp., and infamous as the world's first rogue pirate astronaut, was trying to cook dinner.

As far as Penny High Eagle was concerned, _trying_ was the operative word here.

"No, High Eagle, people like me are the reason God, if such exists, came up with cookbook authors."

"That's kind of my point, Jack. Any real cook won't be using a damn cookbook the way you do! It's not an engineering manual, it's just a cookbook! We're not launching a space shuttle here, we're making dinner. Cooking is much more of an art than a science. You can't always measure everything so precisely… those are intended as a guide, nothing more. You are expected to improvise… to think outside the box. Hell, don't just blindly follow the books. Cook with instinct. Play with the ingredients! Cook like a creator. Do it with _love!_" Penny cried.

"Love? I thought we were talking about food, here," Jack responded, seemingly nonplussed, ever the empirical scientist.

Penny just shook her head and looked to the Heavens for guidance.

"Cooking is _all about_ love! I've said it before, and I'll say it again: you're a geek and a goon, Medaris! The only way you'll ever be comfortable around a stove is if we reinforce it with duct tape, rig it to burn hydrazine, and have a comlink to Houston," she griped. "I can just hear the radio chatter now: 'Ah, Kitchen… Houston…, we need you to cycle the DEDA breaker, stir your cryo tanks, and take the sauce down to a simmer. That would be a gas release of, nominally, 15 percent flow. Do you copy, over?'"

Jack looked at his wife like she was crazy, before remarking, "Well, this stove isn't built for that level of functionality. We'd likely end up with a 12-02 alarm."

Obviously, he _thought_ he was being funny. Her arched eyebrow said so.

"I'm telling you, Medaris, you dump those raw onions in the sauce, and the Flight Surgeon is gonna ground you due to _E. Coli_ poisoning!" Penny remarked right back. "You have to sauté them first!"

"I thought you wanted me to improvise!" Jack stated, his voice starting to rise despite his normally calm demeanor.

"I do, but not when it comes to the health of those you're feeding! Sautéing onions is a given. You have to know the rules before you can break them!" Penny fired back. "The rate you're going, our kitchen's gonna need a full-time Range Safety Officer. Pun intended!"

Before the argument could escalate any further, the phone rang. Going around to the other side of the cooking island to where the phone lived on an antique table behind the couch that separated the kitchen proper from the rest of the large den, she checked the Caller I.D. After a second, Penny looked up at her husband, who had gone back to his dicing of onions. "Hey, this says it's from Lois Lane, that reporter at _The Daily Planet_," she reported. Jack looked up from his onions at her, shrugging.

"I thought we'd decided not to give any more interviews," he stated.

In the few years since Jack and Penny had returned from their Lunar adventure using a 'rented' Space Shuttle _Columbia_ (prior to _Columbia's_ final, disastrous voyage which had marked America's second tragedy in space) they had been the subject of much media scrutiny and speculation, though sadly most of it was focused on the exploits of the adventure itself, and not the more noble mission which was its primary purpose. Jack and Penny had successfully returned to Earth with a small stockpile of fire beads from Shorty Crater at the Apollo 17 landing site, fire beads which contained concentrated amounts of Helium-3, an element which allowed Medaris to create and debut a new, highly efficient engine powered using the element, and which created cold fusion. While Helium-3 was very rare on Earth, it seemed it was quite abundant on the Moon.

The engine had worked. The potential for a substantial reduction in the world's need for fossil fuels to power engines and industry had been introduced. However, due to the deeply entrenched greed that was the prime mover of heavy industry in the early 21st Century, the Medaris engine, and his years of research, as well as that of others who were attempting similar engineering marvels (which included hydrogen cracked on-demand from plain water) were effectively silenced by various methods, ranging from strange 'men in black' showing up on the doorsteps of private inventors and threatening their lives and reputations to the sudden, unfriendly takeovers of whole research labs by various government and military entities, to offering huge sums of money to certain inventors to 'buy' their inventions and procedures, to mysterious disappearances, sudden deaths, and even outright murders of some who refused to stay quiet or be bought out. If someone with such a technology put up a website, within a few weeks, any attempt to access said site was met with an 'Error 404' screen, and the IP address of the person trying to log onto the site was noted and entered into a database of info kept by the various nepotistically connected individuals who were running, and manipulating, the world's few energy giants.

In short, on Earth these days, if you built a better mousetrap that used any energy source that was NOT fossil fuel-based, the only people beating a path to your door were the ones carrying hush-money, court orders, or heavy firepower.

The only thing keeping Jack and Penny safe from attempts on their lives was Penny's stardom and worldwide reputation as a journalist and explorer, and Jack's group of friends ranging from flight engineers to ex-Pad Rats, all of whom were well-interconnected and heavily-armed themselves. They were both well-known enough that, should anything even remotely suspicious ever happen to them, the attention from the media and the public would be too focused for even the elite players in their star chambers to sneak their way out of.

"Hello," Penny answered the phone. "Yes, this is Penny. Yes, Miss Lane, I know who you are. In fact, I really enjoy your writing. But, if you're calling for an interview, well I'm afraid…"

By now, Jack had put down the knife, and was openly watching his wife's reactions to the other side of the conversation. A few moments later, her eyes widened.

"Not to sound obnoxious, but why wouldn't he just contact us directly?" she asked, looking at Jack with an expression of concern. "Oh. Oh, I see. Well, I guess that's understandable. Okay, sure, we can see him. That would be fine. Okay, thank you. Bye."

Hanging-up the handset, she addressed Jack. "That was Lois Lane," she mumbled, ignoring the obvious.

"She want an interview?" he asked.

"No. She wants us to have a talk with Superman!" Penny breathed.

"What?" Jack exclaimed. "How come?"

"She wouldn't say, except to tell me it's very sensitive. She said we could expect him in…"

Just then, there was a knock at the family room doors, which opened out onto the back patio. They both moved into the room to get a look at the glass doors, and were greeted by the sight of Superman standing imposingly on the deck, arms folded across his chest, looking back at them in a quiet manner.

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"Okay, so let me get this straight. You want me to help you get into space?" Jack Medaris asked The Man of Steel who, at that moment, was sitting in the Medaris' den and looking at Jack and Penny with hope in his eyes.

"Yes, that's correct," replied Kal-El.

"But, I thought you were capable of that on your own," Penny ventured.

Kal-El sighed, a look of resignation passing over his features. Clearly, discussing such a personal topic with two strangers was not easy for him, and to their credit, Jack and Penny were trying not to be too intrusive with their questions. Just as clear to Clark was the fact that, after what these two people had gone through with their own experience in space, not to mention the tangled web they returned to on Earth, they were just as uncomfortable with the subject of rogue space travel as the superhero in their midst.

"Well, yes I am, but I can really only get as far as the Moon and back with any degree of safety. If I try to travel any farther than that, especially in my… compromised condition, I'd never make it," Kal-El answered, looking down at his clasped hands between his knees as he sat on the couch. "What it boils down to is… if I don't get out to the area of the Asteroid Belt, and soon, I'll probably be dead in less than a year. And, although I have access to nearly unlimited funds, for many reasons I don't want to involve any governments, at least beyond the merely peripheral. So, without any other resources, I'm in the awkward position of having to ask you for help. I'm not trying to endanger you here, and if you can't do it, I'll understand, and won't bother you any more. I just… I just don't know where else to turn," he finished, taking a deep breath.

Looking at this being, this to all outward appearances seemingly human male, Jack could nevertheless feel a kind of… presence, a charisma emanating from Superman that was, obviously, due in some part to his basic… alien-ness, and yet was also simply a natural part of what he was to the world in general. He was Superman. The only officially-recognized extraterrestrial on Earth. He was, clearly, the most famous being alive today.

And he was in the Medaris' living room, pouring his heart out, asking for their help. After a moment, Jack looked at Penny. Penny looked back. In that one non-verbal exchange, they made their choice, together. A choice that said, _'We've been hiding out for too long. It's time for another adventure. Stand aside, NASA!'_

Penny High Eagle and Jack Medaris may have been the most argumentative couple since Alice and Ralph Kramden, but when they were together on something, they were almost impenetrable. And, on this decision, they were very much together.

Jack spoke for both of them: "Just tell us what we can do to help you, Superman."

The caped superhero smiled at them, and extended his hand to Jack.

"You can start by calling me Kal."

"Well… uh, Kal… we'd be happy if you'd stay for dinner with us. I'm cooking spaghetti," Jack shook Kal-El's hand with a smile of his own.

Superman looked over at the kitchen. "Sounds wonderful! But, if you don't mind my asking… you _are_ gonna sauté those onions, aren't you?"


	8. Chapter 7

_Sorry it's taken me so long to get this out there, but it ain't easy dealing with AIDS as well as having to find work and now a new place to live. But, I got this chapter finished. Hopefully in another couple of months I'll have more for you. I'm so greatful to all of you for your nice reviews. Thanks a million!_

_Pony_

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Jimmy Olsen had gotten off of work about two hours ago, and he was only just now making his way back to the building at 344 Clinton Street. His building. Clark's building.

Immediately upon leaving work, Jim had stopped into The Ace O' Clubs, and had begun digging his way into four bottles of beer.

It had been another one of _those_ days at work.

Perry had pulled him into his office and given Jimmy a chewing-out that had scared the daylights out of him, even though if he was truly honest with himself, he deserved it. Lately, over the last several months, his photography had begun a notable downward spiral in terms of creativity, execution, and the technical and journalistic standards expected of a salaried staff member of _The Daily Planet_.

"It's not just Superman images I need from you!" Perry had bellowed. "You're a photojournalist, and a damn good one, too. I know you can do better than this. You just need to break this funk, or pull your head out of your ass, or do whatever you need to do to get back on your game, Olsen! I'm not gonna keep coddling you. And I'm finished protecting your job! Traum is just chomping at the bit for a chance at your spot, and I'm almost ready to give it to him," The Chief had growled before dismissing Jimmy with an angry wave of his arm. The last sound Jimmy registered as he was closing Perry's door was the _slap!_ of a copy of _The Planet_ on The Chief's desktop as he reached for his ringing phone.

By now, two hours, an empty stomach, and four dark ales later, Jimmy was a bit on the plastered side as he wove his way in the fading dusk toward home. He never saw the mugger with a handgun approach him from his rear quarter until he had already been grabbed and roughly yanked back into the alley. He felt himself being shoved up against a brick wall well-back from the street. "Hey, what the hell…" he started to yell, but before he could protest further, a fist shot out of his peripheral vision and cracked him right in the jaw, hard. He went down in a heap, but the alcohol in his system kept the worst of the pain at bay. Lying on his side, he was able to pull-in a deep lungful of air, and with all his strength he cried out, "SUPERMAN!"

His assailant kicked him in the gut, causing him to cry out in a single, coughing spasm before a second kick landed squarely in his face. He could feel his nose break, and blood began to spurt freely from his nostrils and mouth. Covering his face with his arms, he kept trying to make any kind of noise that might alert a rescuer. He felt hands frisking his body; finding his wallet in his rear pocket, searching his coat's interior for other valuables. He tried swatting away the prying hands, but that simply earned him another punch to the gut, which knocked the wind completely out of him with a loud _OOF!_ Before any further blows could land, however, he was dimly aware of a loud crash, as though a bunch of trash cans had been violently tossed into a heap on the other side of the alley, and then a groan from the same direction. Lowering his arms from his face, he saw a disheveled man laying in a bunch of trash cans where he had just been violently tossed. '_Well, that explains that_,' his mind remarked. Then he watched as a familiar figure in primary colors and a red cape strode over to the assailant, took his gun away from him, and bent it into a pretzel. Or as close as a Beretta 9mm can come to pretzelhood. He then grabbed the mugger and strode with him under one arm back to Jim, who watched Superman with a sense of relief and shame

"You stay right here, I'll be back in just a minute," Superman said to his friend, with a stern expression on his face before flying straight up with his unhappy charge and out of sight. Jimmy, for his part, tried to rise to a standing position, determined no matter what Clark had said to continue his trek home. It was only three more blocks, after all.

His body, which had been pummeled far more heavily than he realized, had other ideas, and slid back down to the pavement. Jimmy closed his eyes, willing the alley to stop rotating and spinning, before slowly trying to rise again. This time, however, it was suddenly much easier, and it took his mind a second to process that he was being helped to his feet by Clark, still dressed as Superman.

Still with that same stern expression, too.

"What the hell part of 'Stay right here' don't you understand, Jim?" his friend demanded as he lifted them both off of the ground and above the rooftops. Jimmy, seeing (and feeling) the world dropping away from them in a very vertiginous manner, suddenly clutched at Clark like a startled cat. He held on so hard he trembled. He had never flown drunk before. Sensing Jim's discomfort, Clark pulled him tighter, but at the same he grumbled in the boy's ear, "Jim, I know you've been drinking and your injured, and I'm gonna help you, but Boy, if you puke on me I swear I'll shut off your cable service for a month!"

Jimmy looked at Superman, fuzzily. He was still bleeding from the nose and mouth.

The superhero looked back at Jim.

"I'm your landlord. I can do it, y'know!" Superman added, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

They were flying at about 3,000 feet, heading slowly toward Metropolis General Hospital. After a moment, Jim looked at his best friend with an evil gleam in his eye. "Y'know, Clark, I do still have those photos of you during last New Year's Eve's office party doing your impression of The Chief for the bullpen after Mr. White had gone home!"

Superman looked at his friend closely. Was he kidding back? Or was he serious? Was this just the beer talking, or was Jimmy really thinking of…

As if sensing Superman's thoughts, Jimmy closed the deal: "You looked especially classic with that cigar in your mouth, your tie loosened, and that old issue of _The Planet_ with Superman on the cover and the headline, 'CAPED WONDER STUNS CITY!' I'm still amazed how nobody could tell you were holding up a picture of yourself!"

Superman shook his head in wonder and mock disappointment. "Blackmail is such an… underhanded way to do business, James."

"Apparently not in our building, Clark," Jimmy retorted as they were nearing the hospital's emergency entrance. Seeing the ambulances, Jimmy started to squirm and it seemed to Clark, tried to actually crawl up and out of the superhero's grip. "No, Clark, c'mon, man, I don't wanna go to the hospital," he whined.

Superman stopped, hovering about 200 feet above the entrance, holding Jim tightly so he couldn't escape. It was surprisingly difficult until he remembered that he was still dealing with the effects of the Kryptonite poisoning, and he tended to tire much more easily. "Jim, Jim… Jim! You're gonna get us both hurt if you don't sit still. STOP IT, JIMMY!!" Clark fairly bellowed at his friend. The effect was immediate. Jimmy, having never been yelled-at by Clark before, froze as the superhero's words and tone penetrated his still-drunk mind.

"Jim, I'm not as strong as I'd normally be due to the Kryptonite, and if you don't stop moving, I might accidentally drop you!" Clark said in a firm voice. "Now, I know you don't like the hospital, but have you seen what that guy did to you?"

Jimmy looked at Clark for a moment, then shook his head.

"Well, he broke one of your ribs, broke your nose, loosened two teeth, and you probably have a concussion. You're bleeding all over yourself and _me_, I might add. And, whether you like it or not, I'm taking you down there. You got it?" Clark looked his friend in the eyes. After a moment, Jimmy nodded, and slowly the two drifted down toward the ambulances parked at the loading area for the emergency room.

Four hours later, a dazed Jimmy Olsen sat in the living room of his apartment at 344 Clinton, in the building Clark owned and Jimmy managed. Clark sat across from his friend, dressed in his civvies now. After Clark had brought Jimmy home, he'd dashed upstairs, told Lois that he wasn't going anywhere but that he needed to talk to James privately and that it could take a while, and had made up a plate of the dinner Lois had prepared, taking it downstairs for his friend, who was just now coming down from the effects of the alcohol and the shock to his system.

They had talked. For over an hour, Jimmy had finally broken-down, and poured his heart out to Clark about how he felt so alone in his feelings about men in general and Bert in particular, how he was terrified he'd never be able to live up to the trust Clark and Lois had placed in him, and how he knew the alcohol abuse was becoming a serious problem in his life.

Clark felt almost as distressed as Jimmy. He had never seen his friend so depressed. Normally, Jimmy was ebullient and buoyant, and rarely allowed life's dark days to get to him. This situation, Clark realized, must have been building-up for a long time, and as the resiliency of youth was replaced with the mantle of adulthood in Jimmy's personality, the sense of responsibility and loneliness had deepened, fueled by a powerful amount of guilt and shame over his homosexuality. He held the young man's hand while Jimmy alternated between talking and crying, and finally after eating the meal Lois had fixed, and crying his heart out to Clark, who simply, quietly offered Jimmy all the acceptance and reassurance he so deeply craved, he put the young man to bed and headed back upstairs to his wife and son in their own unit. Luckily, the evening had been a quiet one, with no rescues needed, which was just as well for Clark. He may have been the Man of Steel, but such emotional turmoil was just as tiring to him as to any other human, maybe even more, as Clark himself had issues when it came to keeping secrets.

Entering the family room, Clark plopped wearily down onto the sofa beside Lois, who was watching the news. Jason had long since been put to bed, and Lois was working her way through a bowl of Tillamook Chocolate Mudslide ice cream, the kind with big chunks of solid fudge in it.

"That looks too good to pass up," he remarked, eyeing her bowl in a predatory manner.

"There's a bowl waiting for you in the freezer," she replied, not taking her eyes off the screen. Clark got up and went to the freezer, sitting back down a moment later with his own bowl.

"Well, how is he?" Lois asked.

Clark sighed, looking almost defeated. "I had no idea that Jimmy was dealing with such pain. He always seemed so cheerful," he said quietly.

"That's no surprise. Some people try to get past their pain by being cheerful and happy as a defense mechanism. I can understand that, especially if he's feeling shame because he's Gay. You'd be surprised how many young people in this country are still ostracized, disowned, and discriminated against just because of how they were born," she offered.

"You don't think it's a choice?" he husband asked.

"Of course not. Did you choose to be heterosexual?" she challenged gently.

"Well, I never really thought about it…" he began.

"Or did you choose to have powers the rest of us don't?" she prodded.

"Well, of course not," he responded.

"But, you know how it feels when certain bigots call you an 'alien,' right?" she continued. "He feels the same sense of pain and, pardon the pun, alienation, that many people in the world are made to feel for being Gay."

After a moment of pensive silence, broken by the droning of the anchorman on the TV, Clark took a bite of his ice cream, and turned to his wife.

"I think I have an idea. We need to give Jimmy some clear purpose, some way of recharging his soul. We need to do it in a way that can utilize his talents, and yet give him a challenge to rise up to. He needs a fresh goal, and I think I have just the goal in mind, and actually it's something that will involve all of us," Clark stated decisively.

"All of us as in who?" Lois asked, arching her eyebrow.

"Well, me, you, Jason, Perry, Jimmy of course, those two folks Jack Medaris and Penny High Eagle, Bruce Wayne, and maybe even Lex Luthor," he offered.

"Oh, this had better be good," his wife retorted skeptically.

"It's gonna be great," Clark replied, eyes shining with energy. "It'll kill a bunch of birds with one stone. You know how I'm gonna need to go out into space in order to retrieve those crystals if I have any hope of finding a cure for this Kryptonite poisoning? Well, we'll not only be able to do that, but we'll also be able to stop on the Moon and harvest a bunch of Helium-3, which will help Medaris get back on track toward creating his cold-fusion reaction systems. We'll give Lex a shot at real redemption in the eyes of the world. And we'll give _The Daily Planet_ the story of the century in a brand new format! And you, me, Perry, and Jimmy will be right in the middle of it."

Lois looked at him for a moment, and then asked, "What story, and what format?"

Clark's smile grew wider as he looked into his wife's eyes.

"Well, as I once said, a lot of people in the world have a lot of questions about me. So, we'll answer those questions with a feature-length documentary film. All about the life of Superman! The host will be Lois Lane. Clark Kent and Perry White will be the film's producers. And James Olsen will be the film's director!"


	9. Chapter 8

_Sorry it's taken me so long to add to this story._

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The next day, Clark, Jimmy, Lois, and Perry held a confab in Perry's office. The day had started out well enough, but right in the middle of the meeting, Clark suddenly let out a muffled "Oooooh" between clenched teeth while rubbing the side of his jaw with his hand. As they all stopped their discussion of the day's upcoming news events, they turned as one toward Clark, who had begun to visibly sweat, and was bending over in his seat.

"Kent? You alright?" asked Perry in a rare lack of comprehension.

"Oh, my God," Clark gurgled between pursed lips.

"Honey, what is it?" Lois asked, moving closer to her husband, who looked up at her in obvious pain, his eyes beginning to water.

"It's that damn tooth," he choked out.

"The one you cracked when you fell?" Jimmy inquired. Clark looked at his friend with misery in his eyes, and simply nodded, hand clutching his cheek, and let out another moan.

"I'll bet it was that ice cream you ate last night," Lois pondered. "Chocolate fudge will do it every time if you've got a bad tooth."

Clark looked at his wife as if he wished she'd just go away. At that moment, Perry opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a prescription bottle, and walked over to Clark, handing it to him.

"Here you go, Son. Try some of these. They're Vicodin. They're strong, but still, knowing you, ya might have to take quite a few to get any relief."

Clark checked the dosage, and then poured twenty tablets into his hand, and gulped them down. During this time, Jimmy had gone over to the small bar Perry kept in the shelf and poured his colleague a glass of water, and handed it to him. "Swish it around in your mouth. That might clear some of the remaining chocolate out of the crack."

"Better yet, go into the restroom and brush your teeth, especially that tooth, vigorously," Perry added. "If there's any debris in there, that may be what's causing the pain."

Without another word, Clark bolted up from the chair, and headed of toward the restroom, leaving his wife and friends looking anxiously after him.

By the time Clark returned to Perry's office, the others were nearly finished with their meeting. Clark slowly entered the room, looking very drained, and flopped down into the chair he'd vacated about 10 minutes earlier. Pulling out his notepad, he opened it up and looked wearily at Perry, as prepared as he could be to participate. But Lois had other plans.

"Clark, I'm taking you home right now," she stated forcefully.

"Lois, I'm fine. I just wanna finish out the day, and then…"

"No, Clark, you're already finished, and if you give me any lip about it, I'm gonna call your mother, and she'll REALLY have a thing or two to say, and I know you won't like that!" his wife snapped.

"She's right, Clark," Perry chimed-in. "You're in no condition to continue today, and you have plenty of sick time accrued. Take the day off, as well as tomorrow."

"But, Chief…" he began.

"No buts, you thickheaded Boy Scout!" Perry ground out.

Deflated, Clark looked to Jimmy for support. The young man who was his best friend simply shrugged and replied, "What's good for the goose is good for the gander. You didn't give me any choices the other night."

_No joy there_, thought Clark painfully.

"Olsen, go with him. Make sure he gets home and stays there. You can email in your photos and such during the day. Clark," his boss peered at him, one finger pointed in a _don't mess with me_ fashion, "No flying, no rescues unless the world's ending. No superpowers. Not so much as a cat up a tree. You go home and you stay there until this passes, provided it's no more than three days or so. If you really want to, you can work on some of your stories on your laptop at home. But that's all. Otherwise, I insist that you take care of yourself. The last thing the world needs is Superman on pain meds!"

For once, Clark actually acquiesced and did as he was told, allowing Jimmy to walk home with him and keep him company in Clark's office down the hall from the master bedroom. Clark, for the first time in his life, had to actually concentrate on the keys as he typed, the Vicodin he was taking (along with, at Jimmy's suggestion, a liberal dose of whiskey) causing him to become slightly fuzzy. The same amount of pills and alcohol would have quickly killed two human beings. But for Clark, of course, they were the only thing that made the pain tolerable.

After working together for an hour on a story that had Clark's byline and Jim's photos, Jimmy looked up from his laptop where he was "Photoshop-ing" some images and said,

"Clark, wouldn't it be possible to make a dental drill with a Kryptonite tip and other instruments as well? I mean, maybe we should figure out if that's possible…"

Clark looked at his friend with a mixture of revulsion and intrigue. At length, he replied, "Y''know, that's not a bad idea. I'll bet if anyone could make them it'd be…" he was about to say _'Lucious Fox'_ when it occurred to him that Jimmy did not know that Bruce Wayne and Batman were one and the same.

"Who?" Jimmy asked, naturally.

Waving Jimmy's question away, Clark reached for the phone on his desk. "It's not important. But, I'm gonna call my father-in-law to start with. I have a feeling he may be able to provide a lot of help for this. Uh…, Jim…" Clark looked over at his friend hesitantly, "I'm about done for the day as it is, and I need to talk privately with my father-in-law, so if you wanna head down to your place, or hang out in the front room and watch TV here, that's fine, but I think we can wrap up the work for now."

Jimmy was nothing if not perceptive, and he was already closing his laptop and rising from the small couch that ran along the side wall of the room. "Yeah, I think I am gonna head down to my place. I want to try a new dinner recipe. Bert's coming over later…"

With that, Jimmy left, admonishing his super-powered friend to call if he needed anything.

Once the door to the apartment closed, Clark began dialing a number…

The next evening, Clark found himself, again, down in his sub-basement in the old building he and Lois owned and lived in at 344 Clinton St. _Although I must say, the basement has never looked… scarier_, Clark thought as he reclined back into the dental chair that had been installed earlier that day.

The man hovering over him was an Army dentist, one who General Sam Lane had personally vouched-for. This was easy, as Lane still had the power to issue orders, including top-secret gag orders for certain… sensitive situations. _Clark's situation could certainly be considered sensitive,_ the old Army commander believed. Nearby was Lucious Fox, the man who had actually created, in an astonishingly short time, the instruments about to be used on Clark. Every one of them had a tip, edge, or retractor that glowed a faint green: Kryptonite. Additionally, the walls were lined with thick sheets of lead inside of more normal-looking drywall sheets which were themselves backed with a new substance which Fox had dubbed "Electro-K." This was, basically, Kryptonite that had been rendered inert until an electrical current was passed through it, at which time the substance became active, and its intensity was variable depending upon the amount of voltage received. Thus, between these two measures, the dentist (and General Lane, M.D.) were able, for the first time, to operate on Clark in a more-or-less normal manner for any other human.

Clark, of course, found the whole system literally nauseating, as well as debilitating, and General Lane was loathe to use the system for much longer than was absolutely necessary, for fear of worsening Clark's nearly chronic Kryptonite poisoning.

However, after about 30 minutes to allow a large dose of lydocaine to numb Clark's jaw, the removal of the tooth had been relatively simple: insert the luxator between the tooth and the gum (and deeper, into the space between tooth and mandible bone), twist and pull slightly to break the periodontal ligament, then pull the luxator out and the tooth came right with it. The whole procedure took less than 30 seconds. After a few more awful (to Clark, anyway) moments where he had to deal with the still very disconcerting sight of spitting the blood out of his mouth, he excused himself and made his way up to the roof to grab some rays. After a few moments of letting the residual Kryptonite weakness ebb away, he shot skyward, and quickly found himself in the stratosphere. As he absorbed the nearly pure sunlight, he felt the strange process of healing as it began to work on his recently-created dental wound. He also felt a bit woozy, which was an effect of going into shock. Even though numbed, the body will still sometimes go into shock after certain procedures, and a tooth extraction can do it. It was also strange to feel the numbness, which was fading quickly as his body became super-powered once again. The sensation was, needless to say, not pleasant.

Nevertheless, with the immediate pain situation taken care-of, Clark began to descend back to Earth, with a renewed determination to make something good come out of this whole New Krypton mess.


	10. Chapter 9

_Sorry it's taken SOOOO long to get this back into the works, but as you know my health is not great, and I only have so much energy to go around. For the last several years, I have been spending a good deal of that energy working on a web-based TV show, STAR TREK: PHASE II (www dot startreknewvoyages dot com__) as both a visual effects artist AND an actor. You'll see me in the role of the Klingon professor K'SIA in the upcoming episode KITUMBA, and you can see my effects in the current episode BLOOD AND FIRE ( I did the Transporter effects, and the red giant and white dwarf stars that are important plot points.)_

_Also, my writing muse had taken a long vacation somewhere where I couldn't find it, as the woman I've loved for thirty years passed away suddenly and painfully last summer, so both intellectually and emotionally I had nothing to give. Hopefully, I can do more in the next few months. However, this June, I'll be back at STAR TREK, so it may still be sporadic._

* * *

It was the culmination of several feverish months of planning, which began with theorizing as to exactly how they would pull-off the project on a technical level, a legal level, and a political level. That last concern was mostly to address public perception, which could prove to be very touchy if it wasn't handled just right.

It had begun with conceptualizing the entire operation to begin with. Second were the technical challenges, and third came the legal and political ramifications involved. Additionally, the journalistic aspect had to be planned and involved from the very beginning.

"You're gonna need to procure a used External Tank from the Shuttle," stated Jack Medaris sitting at his desk in the "bonus room" of his house, which Jack used as an office. Sitting across from Jack was Superman, filling the average-sized guest chair, his cape spilling off to one side. Anybody else would have looked ridiculous sitting there like that.

"How'm I gonna do that, short of stealing one?" the Caped Hero responded, curiosity causing his brow to furrow. Or maybe it was a dry sense of humor; Jack couldn't decide.

"Well, you might actually _have_ to steal it. Technically, under the 1967 Outer Space Treaty, nations retain 'jurisdiction and control' over their spacecraft even when they are inoperable; so a salvage operator wouldn't be able to take title or stake a claim for recovering a defunct craft as is done on Earth under the traditional maritime salvage rules," Jack supplied. **_(1)_**

"And that takes us right back to NASA," Superman sighed.

"Correct. However, considering that we're coming up on the last missions of the Shuttle anyway, and considering the fact that NASA is just as strapped for cash as ever, I'll bet we could work out a deal to _purchase_ one!" Jack finished with a smile.

"How much would that cost?" the Kryptonian asked with mock horror.

"I don't know what NASA would charge for the rights to obtain and scrap a tank. I do know that the newer Super Lightweight Tanks are more expensive to begin with. Something around 5 to 7 million dollars each. But still, they do only get used once; they break up over the Indian Ocean after being jettisoned. So, figure it this way: from a negotiating standpoint, any money NASA gets for one is gravy. The hardest part is gonna be reassuring the Feds that we aren't trying to build a bomb," Jack mused.

"I don't think telling them we're using it to build an experimental spacecraft for me and my family is gonna fly too well with the government, either," Superman retorted, a smile softening the words.

"Well, at some point it will come out, what you're doing," Jack advised. "My feeling is that you should be ready to embrace it. You'll have no choice but to learn to live with it."

"That's part of why this is so perfect: Penny High Eagle is one of the most well-known journalists since Dan Rather. She and Lois, together, can create a flow of information that'll be effective in tiding-over the clamoring hordes while at the same time controlling just what information is out there to begin with," Kal-El finished. He chuckled ruefully. "Man, I feel like some kind of propaganda minister," he muttered, looking at Jack from beneath hooded eyes.

"Maybe, but it's also necessary in order to maintain the quality and accuracy if the information that's first seen by the public," Jack responded. "Think of it this way: if you put the story out there first, with your own hopefully minimal spin, then nobody can accuse you of hiding any truths until after it went public from some other source. At least this way, you have some semblance of control over it."

"Well, yeah, I guess that's gonna be what we'll have to do," the Kryptonian allowed with a small shrug. "But we still have to figure out how to get one to begin with, otherwise this whole thing is just a thought-exercise."

Jack rubbed his chin for a moment, cocked his head as if a light bulb was going-off over his head, and slowly spoke.

'Tell you what, I still have a few contacts at Houston and down at The Cape, and a few of them are old GNC and BOOSTER OPS guys…those are the Mission Control positions that are in charge of the External Tank Systems, so maybe I can wrangle something."

"Jack, if you can come up with something, I'll owe you. Big time," Superman smiled gratefully.

Several days later, the cell phone that Clark only used as Superman rang. At the moment, Clark was at home in the model railroad room with Jimmy. They were installing a delicate miniature building, an H.O. scale model of Santa Fe Railway's old Summit Depot that used to be at the top of Cajon Pass in the San Bernardino Mountains.

Clark checked the caller I.D., and saw that it was from Jack Medaris.

"Hi, Jack!" Clark answered.

"Kal El, I have some news for you. Can you talk?"

"Sure. Just a sec… Jimmy? I hafta take this, can you pull the fiber optic strands up through the base for the Depot? You can use the ¼-inch drill bit. I'll be right back."

"Sure thing," replied his best friend, turning to get the large Dremel tool.

Moving into the hallway, Clark spoke into the phone. "Hey, Jack, what's up?"

"Mr. Superman, sir, I hope you have a really big warehouse or hangar," Jack began.

Clark could hear the smile in Jack's voice, and couldn't help but smile himself.

"Okay, why? What's going on? Is NASA gonna sell us a tank?" Clark couldn't help the enthusiasm that crept into his voice.

"Nope!" replied Jack.

Clark's face fell. "They're not?" he squeaked.

"Nope! They're gonna GIVE us one!" Jack crowed.

For a moment, Clark couldn't believe his ears. Finally he found his voice. "How'd you manage THAT?"

"When I told a friend of mine down there that Superman needed a favor, he spoke to his superiors, who spoke to theirs, and they said that considering how much help you gave them when you saved that planeload of journalists, not to mention their brand-new prototype shuttle, that it was worth the price of an E.T. and then some!" Jack related. "Besides, they have no use for it after it's jettisoned, so it's not like they're losing any money on it. It could be great PR for NASA, too. So, get your team together, because it looks like Operation Tank Salvage is a GO!"

"Oh, Jack… I don't know how to thank you," Clark sighed.

"Don't worry about that. Worry about where you're gonna stow the thing. That tank is over a hundred-and-fifty feet long!"

"I'll figure something out! Thanks again, Jack!"

As Clark closed his phone, he took a deep breath, and said a silent prayer of thanks. For the first time in months, he felt as though there just might be a bit of light at the end of the tunnel. He also knew that the really hard work was only just beginning.

* * *

1.) _Taken from the blog "Law Law Stud," which is maintained by a law student in Los Angeles named Bruce, this quote, as part of his post on "Space Salvage Laws" appeared originally in Popular Mechanics:_

_"Finally, current space law doesn't allow another solution to the space-junk problem: Salvage. Under the 1967 Outer Space Treaty, nations retain "jurisdiction and control" over their spacecraft even when they are inoperable, meaning that a salvage operator wouldn't be able to take title or claim an award for recovering a defunct craft as is done on earth. Space lawyers (yes, there are space lawyers) have been arguing for years that the proliferation of space junk makes some sort of salvage law necessary, but up to now there has been little progress. The technology for recovering defunct satellites is there, though cleaning up smaller debris fragments would be much, much harder. That's a reason to try to get a handle on the problem sooner, rather than later. A space salvage law might even give a shot in the arm to commercial space efforts, by providing yet another money-making option."_

_After I came accross this, I called Kennedy Space Center, and spoke to the PR department and the OPS people, and they told me that if Superman needed a used External Tank, they'd probably be more than willing to allow him to salvage one. So there. I LOVE doing research!  
_


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